Star Crossed
by Rosette Leclair
Summary: The opera is done, the last notes have been played. Christine returns to Erik after finding that Raoul has been entertaining a mistress, but what happens to the children of the Phantom and the Vicomte? Can they mend their families' history of hatred?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Please review. Really, anything does help.**

**Disclaimer: I own neither Phantom of the Opera nor Romeo and Juliet.**

"Two households, both alike in dignity...  
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,  
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.  
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes  
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;  
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows  
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.  
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,  
And the continuance of their parents' rage,  
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,  
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;  
The which if you with patient ears attend,  
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend...

For never was there a tale of more woe,

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

-William Shakespeare


	2. Birth

**A/N: Just wanted to give credit to penwieldingrose, from whom I got my idea of what Erik's son may look like.**

_Christine_

The pain was nearly unbearable. I remember screaming, crying out loud from the agony of it all. The doctor, a burly man of questionable merit, was coaching me through it all. I had banished Erik from my room a while ago, as he was making this even more unbearable because of his overprotective worrying. I felt bad sending him out like that, especially when he looked at _me_ with that hurt, sorrowful gaze. But it was important to me that he did not have to see me in pain. And I was in pain.  
"It's breached, Christine, you'll have to push a little harder!"  
I was dimly aware if the doctor's voice. Push harder? I couldn't possibly push any harder than I was already was! Did the ignorant man not realize that? I was unable to respond because of the involuntary scream that escaped from my lips.  
"Come now, Christine!"  
"I can't!" I sobbed miserably. It would have been so easy to just give up. I was so tempted to, but then I thought of Erik, of how happy he had been when I had come back. I couldn't leave him now.  
That night was coming back to me now. I discovered that Raoul had been keeping a mistress, a pretty but intelligent girl named Genevieve. I left Raoul before our wedding, missing my angel, regretting my choice. I found Erik, my angel, by accident really. I had wandered back to the opera house, thinking he might have left some clue as to where he had gone. Apparently, though, he had never left.  
At first he didn't believe me. He tried to send me away. But, slowly and painstakingly, I had convinced him that I wanted to stay.  
Then there was the baby.  
I heard later that Raoul had married the mistress. The rumors that circulated the marriage claimed that it was because of an unexpected pregnancy, a fact that could not possibly be denied as the stomach if the poor young girl began to grow.  
My thoughts of Erik were really the only things keeping me and the baby alive at this point.  
So I pushed harder.  
Silence greeted me. Then, after a moment, a thin but musical cry.  
"Give me my child," I whispered dreamily, already seeing its perfect face in my mind's eye.  
"Madame," the doctor stuttered nervously, "it's...it's a boy."  
"Give me my child!" I all but shouted. The doctor obliged fearfully.  
His skin was yellowish in color, and thin as parchment. His eyes were not set in deep, black sockets as Erik's were. They actually resembled a normal person's eyes, if not for their golden hue. His nose was malformed, but only slightly. It was not the gaping hole that was so familiar a sight for me now, but instead a halfway developed, gnarled stub.  
And, though he certainly wasn't the perfect son I had envisioned, to me he was perfect. And so, I held him close to me and smiled as I watched Erik timidly reenter the room, and spoke to him in a soft, motherly voice.  
"Hello, my darling. Hello, my precious little Gustauve."  
============================

_Raoul_

I regretted so much.  
Most of all, I regretted Genevieve. She was a nice enough girl, very pretty too. But I had lost Christine because of her. It was my mistake, I knew that. Now I was slumped in a chair in the hall, waiting and worrying over a girl I didn't even love.  
Another harsh scream shattered the silence that had been building up around me. I flinched. It was my fault, all my fault.  
One more scream, much weaker than the one before, then the silence settled over me again. This time, though, there was nothing to break that silence.  
After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor crept out of the room with a slow but steady tread. His eyes were trained on the ground. Behind him, enveloped in his immense shadow, was the tiny nurse, clutching a bundle in her trembling arms. I rose fearfully, not quite understanding the words that left the mans lips.  
"You have a daughter, Monsieur."  
I pressed my hands against the wall for balance. "And Genevieve?"  
The doctor took this opportunity to look up at me, sorrow filling his old eyes. "I'm sorry, Monsieur de Chagny. Madame did not make it."  
I bit my lip, not caring about the pain that trickled like blood from the wound I was making. It was my fault, all my fault. She was just a poor serving girl. I had given her suffering, given her her death, but had never even given her the dignity of truly loving her.  
It was the monster's fault this had happened. If he had never caused me strife over Christine, I would have never sought comfort in Genevieve. It was his fault! At least, that is what I told myself.  
Of course, the nurse thought that this would be the perfect time to present me with my daughter.  
All thoughts of hatred and bitterness left me as I looked into her face. The innocence, the purity of it all left my breathless. I had heard that babies were supposed to look wrinkled and puny when they are first born, but my daughter was perfect from the start. Her cheeks were already rosy, if possible for a newborn. Her blue eyes sparkled radiantly, and a wisp of babyish blond hair lay on her head.  
The next few weeks, Genevieve's funeral, the condolences of all my friends and family members who had previously threatened to disown me were made beatable only because of her.  
And I knew, as sure as I knew that this small girl had made a permanent impression on my heart, that I would not lose her the same way I had lost Christine. No, I would not let the demon spawn steal her, even if I had to keep her locked away in an ivory tower forever.  
I knew, as each day went by, that I was becoming more and more paranoid, more and more protective. Maybe I was losing my mind, but I would not lose my little girl.  
I would not lose my Juliette.


	3. Discovery

_Juliette_

The day did not seem out of the ordinary, at least to begin with. The morning passed in a tedious haze of boredom, as most of my mornings now did. I had run out of things to do long ago, as I had been trapped in the prison of an estate for my entire life. It didn't bother me when I was younger. My only friends were the servants and my tutors, but that was all I had ever known. But when I started to read, I was introduced to a world completely unfamiliar to me. The concept of going to town without an escort was foreign. It was only when I began to work my way through our library that I even began to notice my father's peculiarities

When he was sober, he often locked himself in his room, buried amidst piles of dusty newspapers. On the one occasion I was allowed in that cluttered room, I noticed a portrait of a very pretty lady. I asked if she was my mother. All he said in reply was that she should have been.

When my father was drunk, he would pace the corridors, rambling about a demon that was coming to get me. He began to take to sleeping right outside my room at night, often with a gun

My father, forever such a mystery to me, inspired me to follow in the footsteps of so many admired storybook characters and embark on an adventure all my own

This particular day, my father was out on business. This meant that I had the perfect opportunity to snoop through his personal belongings

"Madamoiselle, what on earth are you doing?"

The voice of Jean, one of my father's business associates, startled me so much that I nearly lost my balance. I sighed. My position must have indeed looked rather foolish, perched atop the post that stood across from its twin at the top of the stairwell with my arms spread like wings.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I huffed impatiently, trying to hide the blush that was spreading across my features and leaping from my position and to the ground. To be perfectly honest, I wanted to make an adventure out of this whole snooping plot. I wanted to be like the great Sherlock Holmes and solve mysteries everyday, away from this luxurious prison. But that sounded pitifully childish even to my own ears

Bending down to adjust my skirts, I was uncomfortably aware of his eyes trained on my form. I straightened quickly and without bothering to finish. "What do you want, Jean?

He shifted uncomfortably and ran his fingers through his curly blond hair

"Just...uh...just tell your father I...uh...came by."

"I will," I said icily. I suppose any other girl would have loved to have his gaze upon her, and would have flirted readily. But I was not any girl

Turning from Jean without a moment's hesitation, I fled towards my father's room to fulfill my mission

His room was cluttered, as it had been that first and only time I had entered it. Papers were scattered across the floor, some old and yellowing and giving off the effect of frailty and others so new that the dates placed them as being published within the past week. Likewise, numerous books were strewn about, all well thumbed and careworn. The portrait of the woman that he said should have been my mother hung across from his bed, her empty blue eyes sending shivers down my spine.

I bent down and picked up a paper that was dated over eighteen years ago

Christine Daae Triumphs

I skimmed through the paper quickly and, finding nothing of importance, picked up another.

The Phantom Strikes Again!

I blinked in surprise. A phantom? That sounded oddly like some fantastical story from one of my books. Too interested for my own good, I read on. It seemed that something or someone had been terrorizing the Opera House, and had killed a man named Joseph Buquet. Once again I noticed the name Christine Daae.

"Who are you?" I muttered, casting the paper aside and retrieving yet another.

Raoul de Chagny to Marry Soprano Christine Daae

My hands trembled and I lowered the papers. My mother's name was not Christine, it was Genevieve. I knew that. I had the article that announced their marriage, and my birth. My nurse, Annette, had saved it for me. She thought, despite my father's wish for that matter to remain unspoken, that I should have some knowledge of my mother. Christine Daae. So that was who she was. That still didn't explain much, though. I looked at the paper again and, turning it over, found a single sentence underlined and circled in ink at least a dozen times

Erik is dead.

Erik. I had heard that name before. Had my father not breathed that very word along with the reek of alcohol late at night? Had he not cursed that name, slurring it with words such as demon and monster

I shook my head miserably. Something had happened that made my father this way, something involving Christine and Erik. Biting my lip, I silently wished that they had never been born, that my father had never met either one.

I glanced away from the paper yet again, dashing the tears from my eyes. Another newspaper caught my attention, one that was dated just last week. Seizing it, I learned that there was going to be a masquerade ball next week, a wonderful celebration for the reopening of the Opera Populaire.

Opera Populaire. Christine Daae. Erik. Perhaps I could do more investigating once at the scene of this crime and hatred. At least, I told myself that my motivation for wanting to go to the ball so badly was purely for productive purposes. Perhaps I didn't want to admit that being solitary for so long had left me with a craving for the outside world, and that I was willing to attend the first opportunity that presented itself. Perhaps there was always a part of every girl that would leap at the chance to attend a ball and pretend for one night that she could be a princess

Folding the paper neatly, I hurried out of my father's room.


	4. Decision

_Gustauve _

I lived in a prison.

Do not get me wrong, I had no desire to be included in the world of the living. It was a terrible feeling, though, to not even have the chance. My prison was not necessarily my home, five stories under the opera house, but my face. I could never hope to escape from my solitude because of something as superficial as appearance. But unfortunately that was the way the world worked.

When I was younger, my parents never allowed me to wear a mask. My father always wore his, more out of habit than anything else, but my parents denied my request to have my own. As I grew, I had broken through that shell of ignorance my parents had enveloped me in and had realized that I was different. Still, my parents never gave in to my request for a mask.

It bothered me to no end that I was forced to look at my own wretched face in a carelessly misplaced mirror or in the reflective surface of the murky lake. My mother, bless her kind soul, told me I was beautiful to her. I learned not to raise the matter with my father, for he would only sink into a pit of despair and blame himself. Still, I couldn't bear to see my own ghastly visage. So against my parents' wishes, when I turned fifteen I made my own mask.

It was a simple design, inspired from the signature design of my father's old Opera Ghost persona. Yes, I found out about that early on as well. I was perhaps too curious and overly intelligent for my own good. I still smile at my sputtering father and at the scalding look my mother directed toward him when I brought it mask I insisted on wearing now was solid white, and covered my entire face with the exception of my mouth and chin. Despite my mother's protests, I refused to take it off on the grounds that I had made it more comfortable than father's old mask.

Yes, I lived in a prison, but it was debatable whether or not the full extent of it was self imposed

And then the grand reopening of our opera house was announced, and a plan began to unfurl in my mind. Despite the insistence of my mother that I would eventually find love as father had and my father's insistence that I should not waste my inherited talents, I felt as though the upper world was not worthy of the better part of my nature. I told my mother this once, and she told me I was too much like my father. I did not mind. In my opinion my father was brilliant.

So my plan was to follow in my father's footsteps and become the newest incarnation of the famed Opera Ghost. I did not dare tell anyone about this, because they might try and deter my youthfully rebellious plans. But I felt as though I had to carry on the legend somehow, and perhaps this would give me the purpose I so craved.

The celebratory masquerade ball did not even enter my thoughts until Nadir brought it up one night when he was over for dinner.

Dinner was the only time I have into my mother's pleas and removed the mask. It was a standing tradition to have dinner together as a family with absolutely no masks, a tradition that my seemingly fragile mother enforced with an iron fist. Nadir, one of my father's old friends, joined us occasionally. He was always kind enough to me in a strangely firm way, a method I figured he had developed from being around my father. He also insisted I call him Uncle Nadir, something my mother agreed with and my father seemed to find highly amusing.I barely paid any attention to the dinner conversation as my mind worked on the best way to reintroduce the Phantom until Nadir turned to me and asked me if I was going to attend the masquerade ball.

I don't know who reacted worse, me or my father. At the other end of the table, my father nearly dropped his glass and actually started choking on his wine. I simply stared at Nadir in pure shock, my fork falling from my hand with a clanking sound.

"The boy does not need to attend the ball," my father said, recovering from his shock and dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

"Oh, come now, Erik," Nadir pressed. "He deserves to have at least one chance to be a part of the rest of the world. The masquerade ball is the perfect opportunity.

"The rest of the world is a cruel and unhappy place. If he does not wish to be a part of it, he does not have to."

Nadir turned to me again. "Do you want to attend the ball or not?"

I began to twist a napkin in my hands as a part of my nervous habit that insisted I must keep my hands busy.

"Honestly, I could care less."

Nadir sighed and muttered something about my being too much like my father, who was wearing a very triumphant smile. A few moments passed in awkward silence before my mother spoke up in her soft voice.

"I think you should go, Gustauve."

Everyone stared at her: my father as though she had lost her mind, Nadir now the one who was triumphant, and me wishing she had never said it.

"Well," she said, gathering confidence, "I think it would be good for you. Day in and day out you stay locked in your room, either working on your music or God knows what else. It pains me to see my son shun the light so."

She locked eyes with me and continued in an even quieter voice. "You are so much like your father. Though in many ways that's a good thing, I don't want you to hate the world. Please, Gustauve, I really think it would do you good."

The look in her eyes was pleading, and before my father had time to protest, I nodded in assentI may have insisted upon wearing a mask, but it hurt me every time I denied my mother. Against my better judgement, I could not refuse.


	5. Convincing

**A/N: I know those of you who actually like my story are excited about all the updating that's going on. I just wanted to warn you that it's not always going to be like this , but I have a lot of school work this year and I wanted to update while I can incase I may not get the chance to for a while. Also, special thanks to marial0798, Forever Alone , and especially XxxImNotOkayxxX for your amazing reviews. This chapter and the next are going to be kind of short, so bear with me. The masquerade will happen soon : )**

_Juliette_

I knew that I could not tell my father about my plans. If all went well, he would still be away on business and I would never get the opportunity to. But I needed a confidante. So I turned to the woman I knew I could trust.

"What in heaven's name d'ya want to go to that masq'rade fer?"

I sighed heavily while Annette bustled about my room, tidying up in that bustling way she always used.

"Because I have to find out what happened before I was born to make my father the way he is."

The old woman turned and stared at me. "I don't think 'at is a good idea," she muttered in her broken French.

I folded my hands and smiled sweetly. "Okay, Annette, you caught me. The real reason I want to go is so that I can meet my Prince Charming, fall in love, and live happily ever after."

She glared at me suspiciously. Annette, for all her great kindness, was not the smartest woman. But even she could probably see right through this startling change of character. Okay, time for a change of strategy.

"Annette, who is Christine?"

The poor woman's face turned white, all the rosiness of her plump features fading suddenly and drastically. "Where did'ya hear 'at name, child?"

I did not answer at first. I needed to play this right, but I was not a naturally vindictive person, nor did I take pleasure in manipulation. But I knew that she would not be altogether truthful with me if I asked her directly, that is if she told me anything at all.

"Please," I whispered, "I have to know. And father would have both our heads if I mentioned this to him. You know how he is about his privacy."

Annette bit her lip, the gears in her head working furiously as she debated whether it was more dangerous to her position to let me go or not. She obviously did not want to confront my father with my questions, and I do believe that some motherly part of her nature was begging for the opportunity to dress up her little girl for such a grand party. "Well, I don't really think you'd be able te find out much'a anythin' anyway. Most'a the people who use'te work there aren' there anymore. An' you never 'ave the chance to go out like a normal girl..."

I attempted to look as pleading and innocent as possible..

"I s'pose it wouldn't hurt."

I smiled, rushing forward to embrace the old woman..

"Now," she spoke up happily, all nervousness gone and replaced with giddy happiness, "we 'ave to find you a costume."

She rushed out of my room in a flurry, her excitement so drastic and unexpected. I could not help but grin at the simplicity of my sweet nursemaid's mind. Ignorance, I suppose, truly was bliss.


	6. Notes

**A/N: You guys don't know how much I want to write the masquerade scene. I'll be introducing a new character next chapter. For those of you who know Shakespeare, he will be the Tybalt of the story : ) Please review!**

_Gustauve _

"This is outrageous! Absolutely ridiculous!"

Monsieur Perrot fingered my note maliciously, a scowl written across his pinched features. He was an short, balding man with a short temper and a large ego that clashed directly with his blatant stupidity, but I knew he would not be nearly as easy to convince as his highly superstitious partner.  
"What is it now, Jacques?" Monsieur Sartre drawled.  
"It must be some sort of prank," Perrot continued. "  
Sartre ran his fingers through his hair, watching his partner pace furiously. "What is?"  
Perrot turned toward him, his red face contorted with a mix of anger and slight frenzy. "A note! From the Opera Ghost!"  
I chuckled as Sartre turned pale, forever the gullible fool. I would appreciate that very much in the near future. "The Opera Ghost?" That tremor in his reedy voice was really terribly amusing.  
"Clearly, it's a prank!" Perrot growled.  
"What does it say?"  
Perrot raised my note again, squinting as read. "'I apologize, gentlemen, for my inexcusable absence over the course of these past nineteen years. I do hope my legacy has not escaped the ears of my new managers. I am back now and ready to serve as I did once before. I ask only for Box Five and my usual salary of twenty thousand francs a month in return for my services. I remain your obedient servant,  
O.G.'"  
Poor Sartre looked ready to faint at this point. I smiled. True, I did not need the francs, but it would be nice to have a ready supply of money when I didn't want my parents to know about everything I purchased. Satisfied that my existence had inserted itself in the back of their tiny minds, I walked back toward my home through the hidden corridors.  
I passed a pair of annoyingly happy ballet rats chatting about what they were wearing to the masquerade ball. The thought of the event came crashing back into my mind. I had to go for the sake of avoiding my mother's disappointment. Of course, I could use the ball to my own advantage. Laughing maniacally and successfully frightening the ballet rats, I surged onward.

My only worries were that my parents or worse, Nadir, would discover my scheme. Though my father never left our home anymore and my mother only ventured out rarely, Nadir had a passion for sniffing around other people's business, and would surely report back to my father if he discovered my plans.

Indeed I would have to go about this the right way or all would be for nothing, and I couldn't allow that.

_Juliette _

_My Darling Juliette,  
I am sorry I could not be home sooner, but business is harsh and your cousin seems to have gotten himself into trouble again. I do believe he will accompany me back to Paris in three days time. Remember to lock your windows at night. Also, it might be safer if Annette slept in your room while I am gone.  
Love,  
Papa_  
I lowered the letter with a slight grimace. My cousin was coming to visit, and though my father loved the only son of his deceased sister dearly, I hated him. Claude, when his mother came over to help Annette watch me during that period of time that my father submitted to drink, used to tease and torment me. Though he was nearly a year younger, he would still attempt to hide my toys and sometimes even purposefully broke them.  
My father, though he still got painfully drunk occasionally, had gotten better after my aunt died. It was a difficult trade for me, because Claude, his father long dead, had to come live with us just as my father was weaning himself from alcohol. I was glad when he was sent to boarding school the following year.  
With a heavy sigh, I smoothed out my costume. I had given myself up entirely to Annette's vision, hoping that the thoughts of silk and gossamer would distract her from this betrayal of my father. Indeed she had been buzzing about like a hyperactive hummingbird, gathering this and that to make what she could only describe as the most perfect costume ever. She had dressed me in a pure, glittering white gown with snowy gloves that came to my elbows and a pair of matching wings. I did not protest too much, for I could not deny that my startling image in the mirror surprised me in a way that made me never want to remove the glorious ensemble.

The mask was silver and covered only the top half of my face.

I had stuffed the newspaper articles I had found in a small white bag. Annette gave a single knock on my door and told me that the carriage was prepared. It was time.


	7. Masquerade

_Gustauve_

I felt extremely uncomfortable amidst the crowd of people, feeling as though each one of them could see straight through my black costume mask. It was terrifying being among everyone else. Though my parents had taken extreme measures to ensure I was educated on the rules of etiquette and that my manners were well polished, I never exactly had many chances to apply all I had learned.

I had dressed in a costume my father had once donned in his days as the infamous phantom. I had found somehow fitting for the introduction I had planned. I was the Red Death in all it's terrible glory. My grand introduction, or shall I say reintroduction would surely prove my power to those unworthy managers and the rest of the cast.

"Having a good time?"

_Damn! _What was Nadir doing here? Honestly I should have expected this, the old man was following me constantly. Besides, why wouldn't he, in all his blasted normalcy, come? This threw a wrench in my plans.

"Not anymore," I said scathingly. This only proved to amuse him.

"Maybe if I had kept a better eye on your father, he would not have done everything he had done. Come now, Gustauve, tell me how the party has been so far." He smiled broadly at me and I felt a tremor of irritation at his inadvertent foiling of my plot. I mentally cursed him, and myself also for not considering his presence.

"Despite the belief of both you and my parents, I do not require a nursemaid." Nadir only chuckled. I bit my lip and continued. "To be honest, though, I could find much better uses for my time."

"Why don't you ask someone to dance?"

I scoffed at this, and he shook his head sadly. "No one will notice your...problem. Everyone is wearing a mask or costume."

I shifted uncomfortably. "I just wouldn't feel right being that close to a total stranger. What if she wants to know who I really am? What if she takes off my mask in front of all these people. No, Nadir," I corrected myself as he glanced at me sharply, "No, _Uncle_, I'd just rather not risk it."

He shrugged and, taking a glass of wine and drinking deeply. He then turned and looked at me happily. "Suit yourself." And, just like that, he was gone. Perhaps Nadir would not be a problem after all. I could only watch in amusement as he took the hand of a feathered buxom women and started toward the dance floor.

I began to wander aimlessly among the shadows, running into a couple who, in their passionate embraces, were oblivious to their surroundings. They seemed to be quite common in this particular setting. Every time I passed them I felt a tremor of jealousy, and of longing. I could not deny that I wished such a casual meeting with a lovely young women could be possible for me.

I searched again for Nadir and found him across the room, talking to someone who clung to the shadows just as I did. I moved forward, plunging head first it seemed into the sea of people against, a feat that was completely against my nature in itself. But something, some irrepressible force, was numbing my mind and drawing me out into the open. Call it what you will, fate or anything else, but I was connected to her before I even knew her. She shifted suddenly, and I saw her for the first time.

She was an angel.

It wasn't just a term I was using to describe her beauty, which was indeed celestial. Her shining blonde hair shimmered in the dim candlelight that struggled to pierce the shadows. Her blue eyes were clear. Her dress, the wings, the way she held herself, could I have just dreamt her? Was this a vision? A fantasy? As soon as I laid eyes on her, I had become a player in some dangerous game. I felt as though my heart were about to burst, and I knew that I could not deny the feeling that spread through my veins like a virus and infiltrated my mind. I had already passed the point of no return.

_Juliette_

I must admit that I could not contain a slight gasp of awe when I entered the main hall. It was so grand, so elaborately and luxuriously decorated, that it seemed it should belong in a storybook, inhabited by a prince or princess. And there were so many _people_. I had been confined to the manor for so long that it was a little overwhelming. The crowds were immense and impenetrable, and it was a struggle to just move in them.

Twice I was asked to dance, and twice I declined. The men who asked me were relatively young, and probably would not be able to tell me anything about the strange affair with the phantom of the opera. This was not to be a night that I could take and use lightly. I had a mission of the upmost importance that I could not forget.

So I walked around the garish room like a sleepwalker for a while, hopelessly trying to figure out what to do next. I had the ultimate goal, of course, but had not thought enough about how to reach it. And then, I heard the brash laughter that drew my gaze to the couples that swayed together in harmony in the center if the hall. An older man danced with a particularly voluptuous middle aged woman. He seemed oriental by the color of his skin and the shape of his face. His eyes were a sparkling, emerald green color. His appearance, his entire being caused my eyes to focus in on him, and I wondered vaguely if he could help me.

I stalked across the room, not caring if what I was about to do flew in the face of my high breeding and propriety. I stepped up to the odd couple, smiled winningly, and asked if the lady would mind if I stole away her partner for a single dance. She acceded to my request grudgingly and somewhat haughtily, and I was left standing with the eager Persian man.

"So madamoiselle, the dance?"

I nodded and allowed him to place his hands on me, grimacing at the contact from the man. I had never had anyone other than my father or my nursemaid touch me before.

After spinning around for a few moments in silence, I made my move.

"Did you know, Monsieur, that this building was once haunted?"

He looked at me with an odd expression and smiled nervously. "A myth, Mademoiselle, a myth and nothing more."

I responded by raisin an eyebrow coyly under my mask and tipping my head to one side. "Are you so sure? Perhaps you have never heard of Christine Daae?"

He stiffened only slightly, the hesitation so slight that anyone else might not have noticed. "I have."

"Then what happened to her?"

He cleared his throat and refused to meet my gaze. "Victim of a few wicked pranks played by the other dancers."

"Why, then, did she call off her wedding with the Vicomte, now Comte, de Chagny?"

He chuckled. "I did not know the girl, my dear, perhaps she was fickle."

"Perhaps," I murmured.

"Why would such a young and pretty girl be so interested in these matters, anyway?"

Releasing the man's shoulder, I pulled the old newspapers from my bag. His eyes widened as he saw the headlines, and he grabbed my arm and hauled me over into the shadows that clung around the edges of the room.

"Where did you get those?"

I smirked. "My father's study. Are you going to tell me more lies or should I ask the gendarmes about what happened that night, nearly twenty years ago?"

He paled, and I knew I had him in a matter of sentences.

"Who knows," I continued, "they may want to strike up a new investigation."

I turned and looked across the dance floor, allowing my words to sink in. But, as I stared into the shadows at the opposite end of the room, a pair of strange, almost golden eyes locked with mine, and a dizzying feeling took me over. My heart fluttered desperately, and I did not know whether to embrace this new emotion or to fear it. I decided on fear.

"Monsieur," I choked out, not giving him time to respond, just eager to get out, "I am sorry for the inconvenience." Then I turned and nearly ran in my haste to get to the door, ignoring the Persian's pleas for me to stop.

I was halted suddenly by the eeriest and most electrifying voice I had ever heard. It paralyzed me wholly, and I did not even need to turn around to know whose eyes were staring at the back of my head, reflecting all the desire that his voice held.

"Mademoiselle, would you like to dance?"

**As always, please review!**


	8. The Vicomtesse and the Phantom

**A/N: Sorry I didn't update last week, but I hope I can make up for it this weekend. As always, reviews are appreciated!**

_Gustauve_  
I do not know what came over me, what possessed me to venture into the world of light or to speak to the angel. Maybe it was something genetic, something passed down from my obsessive father that drove me to it. I looked into her clear eyes and my heart fluttered nervously. She didn't answer my question at first, and so I repeated it. "Would you like to dance mademoiselle?"  
Presently, I detected a glimmer of fear and nervousness in her eyes, and my soul ached as I cursed my horrid face, for I was so sure that was the reason for her hesitation.  
I did not understand why I so wanted to dance with her, why I wanted to hold her close to me. Whatever the reason, my urges outweighed my logic had to try one last time.  
"Please mademoiselle," I barely whispered, staring at my feet and extending my hand to her. I hated that hint of longing and desperation I knew betrayed itself in my voice.  
Slowly and cautiously, she placed her hand in mine.  
I immediately led her to the center of the room, not daring to waste a single moment. She looked so ready to turn and flee at the slightest wrong move, and already I knew that simple action of this angelic stranger had the power to destroy me. Her body was tense and rigid in my grasp, and I would have given anything to assure her that she was in no danger.  
We danced like that for a few seconds, both of us terrified and uncertain, before I decided to speak.  
"So, mademoiselle, do you like opera?"

_Juliette_  
I must say, the question caught me off-guard.  
"Pardon?" I asked, so incredibly unsure of this man's motives. His touch sent shivers up my spine and caused my heart to beat rapidly, but I was still convincing myself that these feelings had to be fear, and that there must be something off about this man. The symptoms indicated either fear or love, and I certainly could not be in love with a man I just met.  
"Do you like opera, mademoiselle?"  
It occurred to me that he was just as nervous as I was, though I could not imagine why.  
"Well," I began, already feeling my body naturally relaxing in his strong arms, "I've never actually been to an opera."  
He looked completely astonished. "And why ever not?"  
"My father hardly lets me out of the house," I admitted, my face hot with embarrassment.  
"Yet here you are," he pressed.  
"Yes," I conceded, avoiding his penetrating gaze, "but that is only because I snuck out."  
I said the last part with a hint of uncontrolled pride, and I chastised myself immediately afterward for the slip.  
Fortunately, this only served to make him chuckle, and I found my lips curving into an involuntary smile. His laugh was so musical, so melodious. I desperately wanted to hear it again.  
Good God, what was making me behave this way?  
"Well, what do you do in the spare time you have in your ivory tower?"

I did not hesitate before giving my answer. "I read."

This seemed to catch his attention. "What do you read?"

"Anything. Everything." I sighed dreamily, beginning to feel the dizzying effects of the dancing and his heated gaze. "My favorite author is Victor Hugo."

He smiled. "Did you read _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_?"

"Yes," I answered, slightly wrinkling my nose, "I found it terribly depressing. I prefer his later work."

"Like Les _Misérables_?"

"Precisely! Though I must admit that Javert was my favorite character. I hate what happened to him in the end."

He seemed to be relaxing. "Really? I find myself moreso drawn to Valjean. Tell me, have you read any of Voltaire's work?"

"I laughed out loud reading _Candide_!"

He smiled broadly, twirling me a couple more times before the song finally ended. I found myself flushed, though I could not tell whether it was from all the activity or the pure happiness, the carefree feeling, that I had found in his company, a happiness that I had never before known. All thoughts of my original mission, of the fear of this total stranger, and of my urge to flee the Opera House vanished. When the next song began, I was not at all reluctant to accept the position as his dance partner once again.

"Tell me, mademoiselle, what is your name? I don't believe I caught it before?"

"Don't you know," I said playfully, "that a name gives you complete power over a person?"

He chuckled again, a true and genuine smile gracing his mostly covered features. I had a sudden and inexplicable urge to rip that mask off. I wanted to see more of his face than his mouth and chin. It passed in an instant, and I could not forgive myself for such a imbecilic notion."So I've heard."

"I'll make you a deal," I said cheerily, not quite understanding the giddy feeling that was taking hold of me. "I'll tell you my name if you tell me yours first."

"A deal with the devil, perhaps," he murmured. I decided not to pay those words any mind. "My name is Gustauve."

I raised an eyebrow under my mask. "Just Gustauve? No last name?"

"Just Gustauve."

The way he said it was almost mournful, and that saddened me immensely. "I suppose that sometime in the future there might be a book about you, Monsieur Gustauve." The smile returned.

"And why might that be, Mademoiselle Yet-to-be-Named?"

"Think of it! Odysseus, Aeneas, Beowulf! You're practically destined for it, Gustauve of Paris!"

"JULIETTE!"

An almost singsong shriek pierced the grand hall and I immediately flinched. "Well," I muttered, reluctantly stepping away from Gustauve, "now you know my name."

He pressed his lips to my hand. I hadn't noticed before, but they felt rather strange, and when he rose, I noticed they were twisted slightly. "And what a beautiful name it is."

"Juliette! Juliette! Ah, there you are!" Annette, adorned in her simple frock that looked totally out of place among the costumes of the masquerade, immediately grabbed my arm and started to pull.

"Annette!" I yelped. "What are you doing here?"

"Your father," she gasped, "he'll be home early. I just got news 'at the boat's docking tonight!"

I turned to Gustauve apologetically. I did not want to leave, especially with the knowledge that we might never see each other again. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"What," he said coyly, "no last name?"

I beamed. If he felt the same way about me that I did about him, he could use that information to find me. "Juliette, the Vicomtesse de Chagny."

I allowed myself to be whisked away before I could see the expression on his face.


	9. De Chagny

_Gustauve_  
De Chagny.  
I knew the name, the meaning it carried. As I previously mentioned, I knew about what had happened so many years ago in this very opera house. The name de Chagny was used by my father in the very foulest of moods, often accompanied by cursing or the breaking of yet another table. To my mother, the name carried a sort of sadness, a powerful mourning due to a broken friendship and a deep betrayal. It was a name to be shunned or worse by the members of my tiny family.  
And yet, I had allowed this de Chagny girl to enchant and entrap me, like her dog, moved to stupidity by yielding its trust and love so easily. But try as I may, I could not help but still think of her as an angel, sent straight from heaven. She was beautiful, and smart too! I had thoroughly enjoyed our short conversation, and I knew without a shadow of doubt that I had to see her again.  
"Gustauve!" I turned numbly to see Nadir rushing toward me, seemingly flustered. "Gustauve," he gasped, "tell me you told that girl nothing!"  
"What are talking about?"  
"That girl you were just dancing with. That-"  
"Angel?" I supplied.  
He looked at me with thinly veiled horror. "Allah, no! Not this again! First your father, now you! I told Erik I was done with his type of trouble right after Christine came back. I knew, I just knew, that you were too much like him for your own good! I really am too old to be running down to cellars and getting trapped in torture chambers! First Christine, now this poor young girl."  
"Her name is Juliette de Chagny," I said softly, still daring at the door as though she would magically reappear. The horror on Nadir's face intensified.  
"Gustauve, do you know-"  
"Yes I know!" I snapped, beginning to work my way through the crowd. I was not heading for an entrance to my home, though. I was walking towards the large doors at the other end, propped open to receive guests.  
"What do you think you're doing?" Nadir had begun to scurry along behind me, looking positively livid and miserable at the same time.  
"I have to go to her!"  
"No. I will not let this happen again, especially with the daughter of the Vicomte. The poor man went through enough in one night all those years ago to last him a lifetime."  
"And what of my poor mother? He didn't seem to be too terribly pained when in the arms of another woman!"  
Nadir only gave a sad shrug. "Though I do not believe it was the right thing to do at the time, I am not against finding comfort in a woman." I decided to abandon that particular train of thought. The thought of my old uncle with a woman was just too scarring.  
"Please, Nadir. Please, _Uncle_. I am sure she feels the same way about me! I promise you if I find tonight that she does not, I will not bother her again." I was not so sure about that. "And if I do continue to go to her, even if she wishes for me to stop," I continued, "you may tell my parents."

Nadir considered this. "Swear to me that you will only continue meeting her for as long as she allows it."

I held up my hand as in a mockery of an oath. "I swear it. But, unless I break that oath, you cannot tell my parents, especially my father, about her. Promise me that."

Nadir nodded his assent. "Perhaps," he muttered quietly, half to himself, after a moment's pause, "if everything works out, this will finally bring peace between Christine, Erik, and Raoul."

I pursed my lips tightly and fled the room without a response.

"But be careful," he called out after me. "You can see from you father's history that these violent delights have violent ends."

_Juliette_  
I was rushed home, the carriage jostling along so quickly that I was forced to dig my fingernails into the underside of the seat.

"Who was he?" Annette said finally. I glanced at her, then turned my gaze to the open window, letting the strong pull of the wind carry whip my hair about my face. My mask lay in my lap.

"Promise me, Annette," I said slowly, my voice never rising above a whisper, "promise me that you will not speak of any of this with my father."

My nursemaid blinked rapidly, her head bobbing in quick successions, though I could not tell if that was caused from the carriage ride or simply from agreement. "'Course not, dear," she chirped enthusiastically. "T'would be ver bad of me ta do m'favorite child like that. B'sides, I would be in every bit as much trouble as you would fer lettin' ya go in the first place."

We sat for a few moments more in silence, not speaking. The only sounds were that of the wind beating against the carriage and the clopping of the horses' hooves. Then, Annette spoke again.

"Who was he?"

I sighed, knowing that I could not avoid the question a second time. "I don't know," I answered honestly. She did not seem satisfied.

We arrived home and I hurried to my room without waiting for my nursemaid. My thoughts were so muddled, such an odd mixture of giddiness, anticipation, and anxiety, that I did not even think about my actions, simply running through the familiar motions. I barely had time to undress before Annette called to me, as though I had not known before, telling me that my father was home. I threw on a nightgown and raced down the stairs.

"Juliette, my darling!" My father caught me in a suffocating embrace as soon as my feet left the last step.

"Nice to see you too, Papa," I mumbled. He drew back and beamed. Apparently, he was in one of his better moods.

"It is always a relief to come home and find that you are still here," he said ominously. I gave a weak smile.

"And why wouldn't I be, Papa?"

He pursed his lips, and leaned forward so that he could whisper in my ear, as though it were a great secret. "There are demons in the world, Juliette, real and powerful demons who will readily steal away those you love. I have seen one before, with my own eyes. I do not want to lose you."

The tone, the way he said this, sent shivers down my spine.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered back. I could not guarantee the validity of the statement, but it seemed to be the best reassurance I could give him. He had gone without drinking for a while now, and I did not want to do anything to cause him to regress back to those habits. So, like a good and dutiful daughter, I smiled and promised I would never leave. Oh, what a tangled web I was weaving.

"Come," he urged briskly, his voice losing its melodramatic nature, "you haven't seen your cousin for the longest time."

I tried to hide my sigh and turned to my cousin, who I had already noticed but refused to acknowledge. He was leaning, in his usual uncaring manner, against the banister. He looked rather rumpled, his blond hair messy and his clothes slightly soiled. He always hated riding on a boat.

"Hello, Claude," I muttered unenthusiastically. He smirked and gave me a sardonic smile.

"Nice to see you, Juliette."

"Well," I breathed, turning back to my father. He was remarkably neat and clean shaven considering he had been traveling all day. "I think I should be getting back to bed now. It was lovely seeing you again, Claude. Good night, Papa."

I did not wait for a response before darting away in the direction of my room.

"Juliette, one more thing!"

I turned mechanically, hoping he would not order me to spend an overwhelming amount of time with my awful cousin over the next few days.

"I have to leave again in a couple days. It's not on business, but I must go to a small town called Rouen. I just-" he paused there, seeming to choose his next words carefully. "I just wanted to let you know."

I nodded solemnly and continued to my room.

In all actuality, I could not even hope to sleep that night. There, was some small romantic part of me that believed Gustauve would come to the estate in the middle of the night to simply stand outside my window and talk to me. No, I was not yet ready to admit that I was in love with him, though I certainly having trouble denying it. For now, I only wanted to see him again, to talk to him about books, his beloved operas, anything. It was a wonderful thing to finally have someone to talk to, to listen to me, to understand me and the things I loved and hated.

And so, on a sort of whim, I found myself sitting on my balcony, clad only in my nightgown.

"How strange, this feeling that my life's begun at last. This change - can people really fall in love so fast?" The last words escaped my mouth without my consent. I wasn't in love, I couldn't be.

"What's the matter with you, Juliette? Have you been too much on your own? So many things unclear, so many things unknown."

Before realizing what I was doing, I stood up and began to slip into into song on yet another unexplained whim.

"_In my life,_

_there are so many question and answers that somehow seem wrong_

_In my life,_

_there are times that I catch in the silence a sigh of a faraway song_

_And it seems, _

_that the world that I long to see, out of reach, is just a whisper away,_

_waiting for me."_

I honestly had no idea why I had begun to sing. Perhaps it was the best way to express what my soul was feeling. In the words of Victor Hugo, music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent.

"_Does he know I'm alive? Do I know if he's real?_

_Does he see what I see? Does he feel what I feel?_

_In my life,_

_I'm no longer alone now that -"_

I was able to stop myself that time by biting my lip, but the song was broken and finished.

"Find me now," I whispered, clutching the railing of the balcony with shivering hands. "Find me here."

**A/N: So, a middle-of-the-week update to make up for the one I missed : ). I don't make it a usual habit to put songs into my fanfic stories, but it just seemed to fit so well here. There will be only one more inserted song in the story, so don't expect that kind of thing. Review and perhaps I may use my upcoming three day weekend to post two new chapters instead of one!**

**_In My Life-_**** from Les Miserables**


	10. The Balcony

_Juliette_

His voice floated up out of the darkness like a rising warmth in the otherwise chilly air. A feeling of utter helplessness washed over me as I heard him speak my name.  
"Juliette!"  
I responded before I could think things through. "Gustauve?"  
I tried to located his thin but powerful frame on the ground below my balcony, but I could not. I was convinced his words had just been conjured by my imagination, an imagination too influenced by solitude and girlish whims, when I felt a rush of air behind me. I turned and yelped, his appearance so surprising that I reacted before thinking. He did not seem surprised nor offended by my reaction, and I noticed with a tremor of unfamiliar feeling that he was still wearing his costume, most noticeably his mask.  
"How did you-"  
He sniffed. "You really did not expect me to be one of those useless gentlemen who cannot even clime his lady's ivory tower to rescue her, did you mademoiselle?"  
I raised an eyebrow. "I was not aware that I asked to be rescued."  
"Was that not the entire purpose of your little soliloquy?"  
Heat rose to my cheeks and I turned away. "You weren't supposed to hear that," I mumbled. He placed a hand on my shoulder hesitantly.  
"I did not hear much of it, I assure you." He paused, considering. "You have a lovely voice. With training-"  
"My father forbids any vocal training whatsoever. I'm not really allowed to sing at all."  
He tensed when I said this, and I couldn't be sure whether it was from what he perceived as an injustice or something else, something deeper and possibly more twisted. "Pity," he choked out at last. I abandoned the subject, looking down nervously at my feet.  
"You seem worried about something. I assure you, mademoiselle, I mean you no harm." He truly looked concerned, and I could practically feel my mind working with amazing speed to try and decipher that statement, the fact that he would think I was afraid of him, and his previous nervous behavior.  
"No, it's not that. It's just..." I paused, fiddling with the end of my sleeve. "This doesn't seem real."  
He tipped his head slightly to one side and smiled questioningly.  
"What I mean is that I never expected something like this to happen. Meeting a dashing stranger at a ball..."  
"I am quite dashing, aren't I?"  
I smiled. "Quite."

We stood for a few moments in silence before he drew a shaky breath. "Would you...could...maybe you...would you like me to come back here sometimes...just to talk?"

He seemed so anxious, acting not at all like I had seen Claude or even Jean act around women. It was sweet, and utterly endearing. This had been what I wanted. I needed someone to talk to, but I had to know.

"Why are you still wearing your mask?"

He flinched visibly and I regretted my words. "There is one thing that you must promise me. You must never touch my mask, nor ask me to remove it. Please," he whispered. "It is for the best."

Unsure of how to respond, I could only nod dumbly. He sighed.

"I must go for now, but I will come tomorrow night. If that is all right with you, of course."

"Of course," I murmured, and he brought my hand to his lips again like a true gentleman.

And, as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.

_Gustauve_

She wanted to see me again.

It was improbable, nearly impossible. Yet she had agreed to see me. I had tasted all the happiness the world had to offer.

Of course, though, she simply had to be curious about my mask. I knew it was too much to hope for her to just not notice. I also knew that she would inevitably see my face. I could not sensibly believe that the dreaded confrontation would never happen. I just had to make every moment we spent together count.

And maybe, just maybe...

No, I could not allow myself to imagine a scenario where she accepted my face. She was beautiful, perfect even. And me? I looked like a monster.

"So, how was it?"

Startled, I released the door knob and stared numbly at my hand. When had I arrived home?

"Fine, Father," I muttered, turning to him. He was seated in a chair at the far end of the hall, a heavy book resting in his lap. "Where is Mother?"

I perceived that he was raising an eyebrow under his mask. "Asleep. It is rather late, you know." I nodded in agreement, and attempted to walk past him.

"Now hold on a moment," he growled, reaching out with one arm to stop me. I halted reluctantly. He paused slightly, looking at me with what I could have sworn was concern. "Are you sure you are all right?"

"Yes."

He sat back in his chair again, thoughtful. "Did you manage to dance with anyone?"

I considered lying, but decided against it. "Yes," I said again.

"Really?" He considered this, fingering the leather binding of his book subconsciously. "Nadir came by here earlier. He looked rather flustered."

I snorted. "I think Nadir had one too many glasses of wine to drink."

"I wouldn't put it past him. Gustauve, I know what it feels like to be shunned from the world. I was hesitant to let you go to the ball tonight because I was afraid, afraid that you would be ridiculed as I once was. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father."

He gave me a sad smile. "You were out late. Go to sleep."

"Yes, Father." Without another word, I left him alone in the empty hallway to think over whatever was bothering him.


End file.
